The Idiot's Guide to Recovery: Written by Jacob H English
by fujikawaii10346
Summary: Of course you love him, but you just can't stand him sometimes! It feels like his mere presence is mocking you; perfection carved from marble with his perfectly toned muscles and well defined joints, prominent clavicles and hip bones. Ugh he's everything anyone would ever want in a man and everything you could ever hope to be. tw: eating disorders and self harm. Happy-ish ending.
1. Chapter 1

**#tw: eating disorders and self harm**

Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use.

* * *

You love him. Of course you do! No one can quite make your heart beat that fast on cue.

You and Dirk have been together for- you can't- you don't even know how long! But sometimes... Well of course you love him, but you just can't _stand_ him sometimes.

It feels like his mere presence is mocking you; perfection carved from marble with his perfectly toned muscles and well defined joints, prominent clavicles and hip bones.

Ugh.

He's everything you could ever want in a man. He's everything _anyone_ would ever want in a man.

He's everything you yourself want to be.

Stupid, selfish idiot. Instead of angsting like a teenager why don't you get your head out your arse and appreciate what you've got instead of making everyone suffer with your self-absorption.

You know for sure you've got a voracious appetite. Yeah you could afford that with all your adventuring and whatnot, but since you've moved to civilization, there aren't very many dangerous ancient ruins to excavate anymore. You've substituted it with morning jogs and occasional trips to the gym, but running a mile or two every morning doesn't quite burn as many calories as rock climbing up a steep waterfall.

No, not quite.

And that has taken the toll on your your self image, your confidence, your sanity... Your everything.

Sometimes you can't even look at him. You can't touch him. God, don't even _think_ about putting your hands around his waist. You haven't done that in weeks! Or has it been months?

You can't- you can't afford accidentally brushing up against those hipbones that you've wanted for so long and triggering another miserable night lying to Dirk, saying you're stuck at work when you're actually holed up in your car trying to make the emotional pain go away with physical pain.

That you've worked hard for.

That you've ran, and purged, and cut, and starved for, for so damn long.

Whether through sword training, his own work out, or genetics? He seems to achieve it all so effortlessly.

It's just not fair.

x

You tend to notice the little things. Not that you mind, in fact, your favorite little thing is a man by the name of Jake English.

He's actually not that little, relatively speaking. In fact he's a smidgen taller than Roxy without her insane platform heels, and about half a foot taller than Jane. Still, he's at least four inches shorter than you (actually it's about three, but you like to round up while he likes to round down).

He's cute and manly all at the same time. He reminds you of a puppy sometimes. He's got a naturally magnetic personality and even though he's not the smoothest operator; he's polite and has a killer smile that all the ladies swoon at- despite the buck teeth that make him look like he's in middle school.

(You notice that he has two smiles, one for the public, a flashy and suave for the ladies and another, more tender and loving one reserved just for you.)

Physically too, he's quite the man. His shoulders are average, a little less broad that yours, but that only makes it easier for you to pull him into hugs and cuddles. His arms are toned but not quite as visibly defined as yours- and to contrast that, he's got a killer pair of legs that lead up to the plushest rump you could ever dream of being in the presence of. In turn your twig-like legs lead up to a stereotypical white-boy expanse of flatness and disappointment. You honestly have no idea how you're more top-heavy than him, must be due to genetics or something because you know for a fact that your sword fighting is nothing compared to the adventuring that he used to do.

You used to say that you would kill for a little more badonk in your adonk, but if having Jake's ass as a consolation then damn- who were you to complain?

Both of you have gravity-defying hair, but at least his looks good on a Sunday morning when you've both just woken up and haven't gotten the chance to shower and primp for an hour.

Your favorite part about his body though, is that he has a little bit of softness lining his belly cushioning what you know is pure muscle. He gained it over time, since he hasn't been doing any hardcore adventuring for long periods of time; he keeps fit though, but that softness makes him absolutely irresistible to hug and cuddle and touch in general.

All in all he's the perfect package.

x

You notice that sometimes after you both get to bed and you're on the brink of sleep, Jake is stilll wide awake.

His head is pillowed by your forearm, and he curls up by you. Bodies near, but not quite touching; only his hand rests on your hip. It's rare, actually; his arms always seem to be around your neck; never lower than your shoulders.

It's different at these times.

His arm ghosts up your waist and right along your rib cage, fingers creeping into the crevices that the bones make. Part of you wants to brush his hand away because it tickles, but then he keeps going up to your bony shoulder, brushing past your collar bone and down your arm, along your elbow, then back down to your hip.

He rubs circles where your hipbone is, jutting out more than normal because of the awkward position of laying on your side.

You usually fall asleep right then and there, comforted by his mere presence.

Other times, not often- but occasionally, long, long after Jake first thinks you were asleep he scoots a little closer, buries his face in your chest and lets out the quietest of sobs before placing a soft kiss to your cheek. He scoots back out and turns around so you aren't touching anymore save for his head on your arm.

Even less often is when you feel a wet spot on your shirt.

You usually brush these half-lucid moments off.

They're just dreams anyway, because really? Jake crying without telling you what's wrong? That can't be right.

You've been together long enough that you know he wouldn't do anything like that. He'd come to you for comfort or help or something.

You know each other well enough and neither of you ever keep anything from each other.

So what reason would he have to cry in the middle of the night?

x

Usually the two of you are busy with work and other chores, only seeing each other when you're in bed or at the dinner table.

You notice how little by little his eating habits change. Usually he cleans off his plate lickety-split, but then eventually he starts leaving a little sliver of food untouched.

That little sliver eventually turns into about a quarter of his food.

Then half his plate

Eventually a large majority of his food is left untouched. Over time it gets to the point where he just won't eat, and simply leaves the table without eating a single bite.

You decide to confront him, about a week since you last saw him eat at the table. You actually have half a mind to force him to take a day off so he can lie in bed and you can make him soup so you can make sure he's not sick.

But no, he's not a child.

You go up to Jake one day after dinner; one day after he cleans off his plate in the trash, puts it in the sink and walks off all without taking a bite.

You scoot your chair out and hurry after him, grabbing his arm and pulling him close. You place one hand on his forehead and another on your own to gauge his temperature and make sure it's normal.

It is, so he's probably not eating because of reasons not related to an illness.

You hold him at arms length and look him in the eye and ask him just what the hell is going on. "Jake why haven't you been eating? You've been eating less and less and these past few weeks I haven't seen you eat a single bite of dinner in what seems like forever!"

He just looks at you with the most broken, heartbreaking smile you've ever seen and pulls you close; "No, no there's nothing wrong," he whispers. He beams at you, smiling as bright as he can. "Please don't worry yourself over me I'm perfectly fine, see?"

Part of you wants to believe him and let it go, while part of you wats to push the matter further.

You squeeze him tight for a moment before releasing him.

Tomorrow.

If this persists until tomorrow then you'll confront him again.

(Part of you knows that even if it does you'll go easy on him. You'll wait until next week even though you know there's something wrong.)

* * *

I'm sure there are errors and I'd really appreciate it if you would point them out thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Lol it should be obv that this is just a mirror from the one on ao3 i'm just posting it here for old time's sake

Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use.

* * *

You just

_don't_

_know_

what to do.

You're not dumb.

You know Jake's exhibiting signs of something.

Has he been binging and purging? Maybe. Has he been starving himself? Well, he's only ever home for dinner- breakfast sometimes. He's usually at work during lunch so you don't see each other then. You can't be sure if he's starving himself. For all you know he could be eating perfectly during lunch and this whole thing is just a delusion of yours caused by a sudden onset Munchausen Syndrome by proxy.

(You know it's not you know he's not eating.)

What else is there?

Has he been chewing and not swallowing? Probably, but probably not. Has he been eating normally and purging? Who knows.

You want to confront him again and actually get something out of him, but whenever you talk to him he just tells you that no, it's just work; reassuring you that he's just too busy now that he's been promoted he's just a little stressed out.

Next time he comes back from work you've set his plate for him.

It's small. It's a lot smaller than what he used to eat what, two, maybe three months ago? It's about a third of that size now.

When you noticed his portions getting smaller and smaller and pointed it out, he just got larger portions and ate less and less of that.

Well, you're gonna talk to him today.

Right when Jake gets home you forego the whole 'honey I'm home!' thing and pull him into the bedroom to sit him down on the bed. You set yourself next to him and just stare.

Of course he looks iunnerved, but you keep looking at him.

"S-Strider? What do you think you're doing?" he eventually asks.

You shake your head, "Jake there's something wrong and you're not telling me. I don't like that. What's going on with you?"

He looks taken aback; "Wh-what? No there's nothing wrong I've told you already, remember?"

You glare at him; outright glare at him this time. "Jake can't you see? You haven't been eating. Your portions are getting smaller, you're eating less- and how the hell should I know if you're eating at work or if you're eating breakfast at all. You gotta tell me this stuff man, you never say anything anymore."

His expression falters for a second before returning to that stupid generic grin that wasn't his. It wasnt't his charming English grin. It was blank and empty. "No there's nothing wrong. I promise you." His voice sounds strained.

Your glare hardens. You honestly didn't think that could happen, but it does. "You fucking promising me English? I thought- no. Don't fucking promise me anything. There's something wrong and you're not telling me now spit it out."

You admit that wasn't the most tactile way to to deal with this but you're done. You're out of options. "Jake tell me right now or I'm leaving."

Jake's eyes widen to the size of dinner plates and he launches himself at you, fisting your shirt. He looks desperate. "Wh- no what- you can't be serious!"

"Jake I am as serious as a malignant tumor. Stage fucking three cancer. God dammit you listen to me. You listen to me right now. You are going to tell me what is wrong or I am walking out that door and not coming back until you do," you deadpan.

For emphasis, you grab his wrists and squeeze tight until he gasps in pain and releases you. His bottom lip trembles and you can tell he doesn't like this. Well neither do you. "Are you gonna tell me what's wrong now?'

He sniffles and looks down. You release his wrists and you realize they're a little smaller than you remember. You can actually feel the bone. Jake wrings them in his hands as if it actually hurt. "There's nothing wrong. I promise you" he repeats.

In turn you sniff, tilt your chin up and get off the bed. Jake gasps and again launches himself at you, begging you not to go. "Please Dirk, Dirk I'll talk- Dirk please don't go I'll tell you.."

That stops you in your tracks.

You look him in the eye. "It actually took the threat of me leaving for you to tell me what the fuck was going on? Really? Do you not trust me enough?"

Jake lets you go and looks down ashamed, "It's not that I don't trust you it's just- it- you- I don't think you would understand."

Something in you snaps at that. "You didn't tell me because you thought I wouldn't fucking understand? Jake motherfucking English we've been together for I don't even know how many years at time point if you don't trust me to help you then- what? What do we have if you don't trust me?"

He sniffs again and brings a hand up to wipe tears from his eyes. "No it's not that I-I do trust you! It's just that you wouldn't understand. I don't want you to understand. It's just something dumb. It's- it's nothing I promise."

You grab his chin in your hand, tilt it up ever so slightly so you can look each other in the eye and he can stop wringing his fucking hands. "Jake English," you hiss, "you are going to tell me what is wrong right now. No more threats, no. I'm leaving."

More tears bead up in his eyes and start raining down freely. His hands once again grab at your shirt. "No! No no no!" he begs, practically sobbing in your arms crying like a child.

Your posture softens a bit, pulling him against you. "Jake just tell me and I won't go. Jake, Jake baby _please_."

It takes a few minutes for him to calm down, but when he does, you tilt his head up and ask him one last time: "Jake can you tell me whats's wrong?"

He nods slowly.

You guide him back to the bed and sit him down. Taking your place beside him. Immediately he crawls into your lap and clings onto you. Jake really was afraid of you leaving.

You ask again, "Jake what's wrong."

He shakes his head. "It's... It wasn't that big of a deal I promise. It's just- i... It was just some stupid thing about some stupid stuff. It shouldn't... It wasn't supposed to do this. I was just working towards something but it got out of hand."

You furrow your brow knowing exactly what he was talking about. Why didn't you confront him sooner? Why didn't you confront him the first time you noticed his plates getting smaller? When you noticed him taking fewer bites?

When you noticed him getting sadder.

You bury your face in this hair, taking a deep breath. "Why... Why would you ever do that?"

"Because I was afraid you would find me... You're so attractive yourself Dirk, why would you ever be with a guy like me?"

You scoff "Jake I spent my teenage years pining after you, thinking you'd never ever return my feelings. Are you seriously telling me this right now? You are the most gorgeous guy I have ever met and nothing will ever change that. Nothing. Ten years or however many years of being together will never change that. You are the most beautiful person I have ever met and I couldn't dream of being with anyone but you."

He shakes his head, "I appreciate the sentiment, but even if you think so I won't. I'm never gonna be that guy. That guy... You are that guy. I'm not.. I've got to work to be that guy."

You furrow your brow again. "What guy?"

Jake shakes his head "No.. no. I've got to work."

You frown, cupping his face with both hands and tilting his head up to look at you again. "You stop that. You are that guy. You've always been that guy. You are that guy who's the only guy for me."

Then you kiss him.

As cliche as it all looks you don't even care anymore.

Once you've straightened yourselves out and all tears are wiped away, you bring Jake out back to the kitchen and sit him down at the table, re-warming his plate before you take your seat by his side. "Jake can you eat at least half of this?"

Jake looks at you then back down at the food, and you again. He looks back and forth like an invisible tennis match is going on between your face and the plate. You sigh, take his fork in hand, twirl a few noodles and bring it up to his mouth. "Open up."

He looks at you with a horrified expression. "No I really don't think this is a good idea."

You frown, "Jake you've got to eat you've lost like ten pounds."

His face actually quirks up at this, into a little smirk. A twitch of the lip, barely noticable. He reacts to this and you know that force feeding him won't work.

"Jake you've got to eat."

He shakes his head and your frown deepens again, wrinkling your face.

It's clear this isn't going to be easy, but still.

Recovery. Yeah.

That sounds good.

* * *

I'm sure there are errors and I'd really appreciate it if you would point them out thanks pals.


	3. Chapter 3

Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use.

* * *

You're eating more or less normally again. Dirk has been unbelievably patient with you this past month, making you food that's easy to digest and great tasting too!

The first week and a half was hard. He made you take some time off from work so he could monitor you more closely, and you guess you're pretty thankful.

Dirk ate breakfast, lunch and dinner with you, preparing the meals with careful consideration of your wants and needs. Sometimes you helped out too.

It was hard not to run to the bathroom at the first sign of all that possible fat and calories, but he started you off light. Fruits and veggies mainly, then salad with a bit of dressing, then other foods with more vitamins and nutrients that greens simply could not provide.

It almost pained you to absorb all that... Fat. But it made Dirk happy to see you gain a little bit of weight again. He always kissed your forehead and hugged you tight after each meal always saying how proud he was of you.

You were glad that he couldn't see your face while your head rested on his shoulder.

Now you're back to work. Your lunch hour spent at the desk and your salad left untouched. You feel bad. Dirk spent all that time making you a nice, healthy lunch but here you are just letting it go to waste.

X

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You've fucked up.

You clean up and exit the bathroom, hoping Dirk's asleep by now.

It's obvious when you enter the bedroom that he isn't.

The moment you get into bed he puts his book away and is all over you, cupping your cheek and kissing his way along your jaw and down your neck.

You hesitate, but can't help but melt right into his touch. It's been so long since you two have done anything physical, and you're perfectly in want right now! But... Well intimacy usually leads to lost clothing and you can't really have that right now.

But his lips are back on yours and oh- maybe it's not so bad. Dirk leans back against the headboard, pulling you along with him so you lay atop him. This is was your favorite position, back when you didn't always worry about crushing him with your weight being intimate with him always brought such warmth to your chest; whether it was cooking dinner together in your little kitchen, or a different type of cooking in the bedroom, it was all welcomed.

His hands run up your back then down your arms, which grip his shoulders like a lifeline, but then they head south. Usually this would be a good thing, but Dirk begins rubbing circles into your hipbone right near where the bandages are and you don't want him to notice and fuck fuck fuck you push him off and roll off, curling up on your side of the bed.

"Jake?"

You laugh nervously, "Sorry love, just not feeling it tonight!"

Dirk sighs, and lays down, spooning you from behind. One of his hands sneaks under your arms and wraps his fingers around yours, resting them above your heart. "Sorry, did I go too far?"

You shake your head.

He kisses the back of your neck gently, peppering kisses wherever there is exposed skin. "You'll tell me if you're not feeling a hundred percent right?"

You nod.

"Jake are you feeling a hundred percent right now?"

You don't move.

Scooting out, he nudges your shoulder down to make you face him. When you do, you avoid looking him in the eye.

"Babe what happened?"

Silence.

"Look at me."

You tilt your head up and stare blankly at his face, focusing on his moving lips.

"Jake no matter what it is I promise I'll help you get through it."

You frown and shake your head, burying your face in his chest. "Don't wanna eat anymore," you mutter.

One of Dirk's arms wraps around your shoulder and the other goes to your waist. "You have to."

"No I don't."

Squeezing you tight, he repeats himself. "You need to Jake, it's for your own health."

"Food disgusts me."

You regret the words as soon as they come out of your mouth. Dirk is very talented in the kitchen, and the meals he produces are nothing short of delicious. You don't want him to feel bad.

too late

"Tell me what you want then I'll make it for you."

"Nothing."

"Jake."

"Water."

"English."

"Tea."

Dirk outright _growls_ and pulls your face up to look at him. "Jake stop it."

You can't help but flinch at his tone.

"I love you more than life itself but please, my patience does have an end."

You avert your eyes, once again ashamed. "I'm sorry."

"You damn well should be." He sighs and releases you, kissing your cheek. "I'm sorry too, though. For not paying enough attention back then. We could've stopped this before it got too far."

You nod, half agreeing, half wanting this to be over. He pecks your forehead and gives your hip what was supposed to be a reassuring squeeze. Instead it illicits a pained hiss.

Dirk quirks a a brow at you. "Something wrong?"

"No! Nothing at all!" You laugh nervously.

Dirk frowns and tugs at the side of your boxers. You grab his hand to try and stop him, but it's too late. The dark spot on the large beige bandage really stands out against your skin.

"Jake."

"Oh yeah that's nothing! Banged my hip against the edge of a desk at work earlier!"

"It's Sunday."

Fuck.

"Jake what happened."

"I was itchy and scratched myself."

He pulls at your nightshirt to more easily see the mandate, but instead reveals several bandages scattered on your abdomen. "Yeah. Sure."

You grasp his wrist and pull him off, straightening your shirt and rolling over again."

X

You don't know what happens but over the next week you seem to find yourself in the bathroom more and more with your fingers down your throat or with a blade at your skin. Is this what relapse feels like?

The worst part is that Dirk is present throughout all of it. Not literally, but he's in the apartment and you know he's aware of it all. He's there, helping to feed you properly and cuddling with you at night, but it his doesn't seem like his heart is in it anymore and that scares you to death.

Maybe he's finally given up on you?

Is this what it would have been like if he found out sooner? You always brushed your light scars off as little nicks, unavoidable when one is adventuring! (In reality only about half of them were from your trips around the jungle.) Honestly you haven't cut in ages! Before this... This_thing_ that you've been having lately, you hadn't picked up a blade since you moved in with Dirk!

You want to talk to him and apologize, but something always stops you. It's the thought that you're only doing this for his attention. No. No you're not. You're not clueless either, you know what's bothering him. It's you. It's always been you. The only reason you're not walking out the door right now to let him live his life, is the fact that you're so hopelessly dependent on Dirk that you just can't function without him anymore.

You're pathetic.

A week of this goes by and you find yourself with Dirk on the bed, him tweaking some designs for a machine on his laptop and you laying by his thigh, taking all that he'll offer to you at this point. You rarely exchange words anymore, but you don't want to quit. Dirk is your everything and despite sounding like an immature child, you're not going to give him up.

It surprises you when he shuts the computer and sets it aside. You expect him to shut off the light and lay down with you. Instead, he pulls you up into a sitting position. He pulls you into a deep kiss, passionate and full of emotion, you're almost overwhelmed. Separating, you smile sadly at him. "Sorry love."

Dirk shakes his head and motions for you to come closer. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and rests his head against yours. "Jake, I love you."

"I love you too."

He seems to hesitate for a moment before bringing his leg up and taking your hand, extending your index finger and pressing it against his thigh. You've seen Dirk's scars before. He's got them everywhere, cris-crossing his skin with strips of pale scar tissue. Something about this gives you a bad feeling; a feeling that makes you think that not all of those scars are from sword training.

"When I first cut, I used the blade from a new pencil sharpener." Something in your heart drops. Before you can say a word though, he continues. "It didn't leave any long-term scars because the cuts weren't deep at all. I was barely fifteen. Just a freshman."

He moves to his arm, showing you the crook of his elbow where you see three parallel lines. "I was feeling a little adventurous one night during spring break. Wondering what would happen if I cut a little deeper."

Down to his forearm now, "Half way through sophomore year I started wearing long sleeve shirts. You can imagine what that was like in Texas. Thank god for air conditioning," he laughs bitterly. But he cuts himself off, quickly slipping out of his nightshirt and pressing your hands to his chest, right over his heart, right where a prominent scar lays. You can feel his heartbeat is faster than it normally should, and that makes you sick to your stomach. You've always wondered where it came from, but when you asked that one time, Dirk just shrugged it off and said it was an unfortunate accident back when Dave was a little too reckless and had bad aim. You accepted that explanation without question.

"I guess I tried to kill myself I was seventeen."

The words pull at your stomach, making you queasy in all the wrong ways. You want to run and throw up because these sudden cramps in your stomach are not to be trifled with. Yet you stay, instead burying your face in his neck to stifle a sob.

"It was technically my junior year, but I was taking all senior and college courses. I had pretty much no friends. The seniors all pushed me around for being a nerd and the juniors all shunned me for not conforming to their standards. Roxy was the only one to give me the one of day because she was the only one my age. But she was popular, and everyone liked her. No one bullied her or shunned her. Everybody loved Roxy."

Dirk's voice is no longer even and perfectly monotonous, his tone much more harsh and know how much Dirk loves Roxy; they're best friends after all. You've never expected to hear such words full of contempt and bitterness come out of Dirk's mouth- much less about Roxy.

"She started hanging out with the older kids. About when she started getting into that stuff like drinking, I figured it wasn't so bad if I just disappeared. No one would miss me, and Dave was old enough to live with our older brother Broderick. They always liked each other more- I was just the annoying middle child that got in the way of their brotherly bonding.

"I locked myself in the bathroom and turned the shower on. Dave found me two hours later half dead. He was twelve at the time. He was the one that brought me to the hospital that night."

Dirk is silent for a long time, but he eventually looks at you, guiding your hand away from his chest and to his hip. "Remember when we first started dating? About a month in I said I loved you and you totally freaked."

You remember that night well. Dirk said he loved you as he dropped you off at your apartment and you were so surprised that you ran inside and slammed the door in his face. You always feel guilty when you think of it, because he must have been so hurt and confused. Granted you were right on the other side of the door berating yourself for not saying it back, but still. What a douche you were.

"I thought I messed everything up," he continues, snapping you out of your reverie. "The first good thing that'd happened to me in forever being flushed down the pooper because I couldn't keep my mouth shut for another month or two."

Another bitter laugh.

He brings his leg up again, this time he pulls down his sock, revealing a bandage. "I couldn't resist. Two years clean and I guess the habit came ba-"

You can't take it anymore. You turn your hand and grasp his tightly, the other stuck in your mouth as you bite down on it almost hard enough to break skin. You were never into biting your nails, but whenever you got anxious your pinky always found its way to your mouth, teeth grinding against it uneasily.

Dirk plucks your hand away and kisses your abused finger, smiling gently as he meets your eyes. "You don't want this, Jake. You think you can control the pain but you can't. Eventually it gets out of hand and it starts controlling you instead- you of all people should know that."

But his words go in one ear and out the other as mere static. You're too busy thinking, overloading your senses with the fact that _you made Dirk cut. You selfish, horrible person you made the person you love most in this world hurt himself on **more than one occasion**. You should be ashamed of yourself you insignificant little peon you should be thankful he even puts up with your shit._

"-ke"

"-ake"

"Jake!"

You blink at Dirk, just noticing that there are tears streaming down your cheeks. "Sorry," you choke out before bolting out of bed and into the bathroom.

Dirk is there instantly, rubbing your back as you empty the contents of your stomach. He makes comforting shushing noises, wiping the mess from your mouth and nose when you finish. He pulls you into his arms and curls up with you on the bathroom floor, letting you sob apologies all over his bare chest.


	4. Chapter 4

Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use.

* * *

Dirk pulls you out of work for another week.

At this rate you're actually anxious about losing your promotion or even your job with how many absences you've been taking lately.

(Well it wouldn't be a problem if you'd just man up and deal with this.)

You notice he's more cautious about showing skin around you now, and you guess you are too, what with your disgusting half-healed wounds. But Dirk is still unbelievably supportive, preparing perfectly proportioned meals and helping you with each bite. Soon though, you get irritable.

A few days in you begin ignoring Dirk, pushing his food away and sulking like a child in your room. He gets frustrated, trying but failing to stay calm as he tries to coax you out of hiding.

You can't help it! You haven't gone this long without self-injuring in a long time- even if it's just a few shallow cuts on your arm. You crave the burning feeling the razor leaves across your skin.

Thankfully (for your sanity's sake) the Saturday before you're due back to work, Dirk receives a call from a co-worker of his. From what you can gather something was interpreted wrongly in his plans and they need him there to figure out what to do to fix whatever they were building.

"Are you fucking kidding me that's gonna take all day!" Dirk shouts into the phone, adding a few choice obscenities every once in a while. The voice on the line frantically tries to calm him down and after several minutes of argument, Dirk relents and says he'll be there within the hour. He kisses you goodbye and you mumble something along the lines of "be safe" but honestly, you're too focused on the fact that Dirk isn't going to be home all day. For the first time in ages you are going to be alone.

You don't know if you're thrilled or frightened.

(Obviously you should have asked to go along with him because you know you are going to do something you're probably going to regret.)

You spend a good half hour frantically looking for your tools, scouring the apartment for anything sharp. Somewhere along the way you find a bottle of whiskey and begin to take swigs of it every once in a while despite not being too big on alcohol. Maybe you are just drunk on the fact that Dirk isn't here to mother-hen you.

Eventually you find them. Amidst the hats in Dirk's half of the closet, a stray smuppet lays with a zippered pouch within its stomach. Opening it, you find a bag with no less than ten blades.

Now wait a second- you may be slightly inebriated, but you're present enough to know that you only had four blades at the time when Dirk took them away. But that means the others are...

Fuck.

You drop the bag about as quickly as your stomach drops to your knees, barely making it to the bathroom as you once more heave up the contents of your stomach. (Mainly alcohol at this point.)

You wipe off your mouth and flush the toilet when you're done and, against better judgement, you take a swig of the bottle still in your grasp.

Stumbling back into the hall, you pick up the bag and bring it to the bathroom. You place the bottle on a little ledge meant for bath whatnots as you strip your shirt and look for a first-aid kit. (Dirk keeps one in every room now, just in case.)

You settle into the tub, back against the wall, resting your arm on your bent legs for easy access. You fish out a blade that you know for sure is yours (you know because it has a little bit of a bend from when you tried breaking it the first time you tried to quit.) and hold it to the spot right below the crook of your elbow. You're shaking with either fear or anticipation you can't tell so you quickly take a gulp of Jack Daniels and throw caution to the wind and make the first slice.

It's not too deep, and is only about an inch long but quickly turns red and beads up with blood. You gaze at it, mesmerized for a moment before dabbing it away with a cotton ball. Moving down you make two more cuts in relatively quick succession. The first three cuts are usually the hardest.

You continue until you're about half way down your forearm, horizontal and diagonal cuts (never vertical) ranging from long and thin to deep and bloody. The alcohol dulls your senses, and you dumbly poke at a particularly deep cut, hissing in pain as your finger comes away stained with red. You're not sure how many there are, but you know it's enough to stop for now and clean up a bit before moving onto another body part.

The bandaging process comes easily, putting pressure on your wounds to stop the bleeding before wiping away excess blood and wrapping it all up in gauze and bandages and the like.

You vaguely note that the last cut you made is probably needs stitches, but you decide to leave it for later, instead taking another gulp and picking up a less bloodied razor.

By the time you're finished bandaging your self up you're too tired depressed tired to move, choosing to stay curled up in the bathtub, aching arms (one from the cuts and the other from gripping your tools so tightly for so long) wrapped around your legs as your head rests upon your knee. You vaguely feel your thighs tingling and your abdomen protesting from being pressed against your legs.

You know you've been out for quite some time because the next time you wake up you're in bed being smothered by Dirk and not in the bathroom.

X

There's no other way to put it. After your little episode, he pretty much puts you on lockdown.

Dirk tells you after you've fully waken up that yes, some of your cuts did need stitches and he did them himself. (You know exactly why Dirk knows first-aid a little too well and you hate it so much.)

He calls your workplace and tells them some crackpot story about how your grandmother was sick and she needed you to take care of her on the island for another month, give or take a few weeks. He goes with you to transfer your files onto a USB stick so you can work from your laptop, and as soon as you're settled back at home, he takes the smuppet with the sharps and puts it in his car, telling you that he'll dispose of it properly at work.

The apartment is soon completely free of anything capable of aiding (both of) you in self-harm or anything of the like.

Keyword apartment.

You find out that Dirk has been a lying hypocritical piece of scum that should quit trying to fix you when he should be fixing himself dealing with relapse as well, a few days later.

Self harm is a horrible thing, but possibly the one thing comparable to it is the unbearable itch that comes along with the healing process. When self control failed to keep you from irritating your cuts, Dirk tried to put you in thick mittens, wrapping your arms in thicker sleeves and bandages and the like.

The second Dirk leaves for work though, you rip off the bandages and go to town on your arm. Of course you have no blades, but instead you scratch to relieve the itch- both figurative and literal.

You end up tearing a few cuts open and undoing some stitches. Dirk just re-bandaged you today so he won't be doing anything for a while.

You re-wrap your arm and hope that the cuts heal a bit more by the time Dirk sees them again.

But of course they don't and the night after you're reduced to tears by the pain of your now infected cuts.

He rubs your back in soothing circles after caring for your wounds, promising you that it won't be too bad for much longer and that the pain should go away soon.

You have his arm in a vice grip (despite the tears you can see him flinching at the tightness of your hold) and try to nod. An infected cut was nothing! But if there were several on one area, that's another story.

You hiccough and lighten your grip, instead rubbing the spot that was sure to be red by now. The way his sleeve moves over his arm raises sirens in your head. Shirt-cotton catches on arm hair and would stay if you rubbed a spot. It would only move with your hand if there was something smoother underneath it. You know this from experience.

Hesitantly, you move away, tugging at the hem of Dirks shirt.

He looks at you for a moment confused, before quirking an eyebrow. "Jake you sure you're up for that tonight?"

You furrow your brows, tugging more forcefully this time hoping he'd get the message because you honestly can't move your arms much at the moment.

Dirk frowns and shakes his head, prying your hands off of his shirt and putting them in your lap. He pulls you against his chest and rests his head atop yours, and while you would enjoy the closeness, you need to see what he's done.

"Dirk take your shirt off."

"Oh my so forceful Mister English!" he says in a dramatic southern falsetto.

"Dirk, you've got bandages on your arm. I know it."

He heaves a sigh, nuzzling his face into your hair for a few seconds before replying. "It's not as bad as you think."

You struggle from his grip, ignoring the pain in all over your body. You swear you feel a few cuts opening up. Curse your skin's inability to heal quicker! "Dirk one cut is bad enough!"

"Look who's talking."

His words bring an intense ache deep into your core.

Fuck.

You're aware you messed up. He doesn't have to tell you.

Trying (but failing) to mask the hurt you feel, you cup Dirk's cheek and lean in to give him a kiss, soft and lingering. When you pull away, your eyelashes are moist and Dirk's eyes are clenched shut.

"Dirk?"

"Fuck-" he opens his eyes and looks into yours with a piercing gaze enough to make you freeze. "Jake I'm so sorry I didn't mean to say that."

You smile and rest your foreheads together, stroking his face with your thumb, "I know dear."

The two of you stay like that for a long time, before you mumble, "We need to get rid of those properly and permanently."

Dirk nods in agreement. "I can take them to the shop and have Sawtooth throw them in the furnace."

"Can..." you pause, "Can I come too?"

Dirk makes a sound of surprise, "Are you sure?"

"...I think so."

Your voice is small and hesitant. You hate it so much what the fuck has even happened to you? You used to be so confident- or at least you used to look confident! What the hell happened to that Jake English?

Recovery is a thing that needs to happen. You're sure of it.

"I want to go too, Dirk." you repeat, a little louder and a little more sure.

"Okay."

After you two share another kiss Dirk helps you maneuver onto your sure under the covers before getting in himself. Once you're both situated he wraps your fingers together and places a kiss to your forehead. "It'll be okay," he whispers.

"I know."

"..."

"..."

"I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you."

"..."

"Can we go grocery shopping afterwards?"

"Yeah. You can ride in the cart if you want so your legs don't get all torn up again."

"Thank you Dirk, that sounds great."

"..."

"..."

"Goodnight Dirk, I love you."

"I love you too. "

* * *

lol ok bye


End file.
